Post Number Twenty Three

“Tresspassin’ Through”

Don’t think all the medical trauma I been through these last few days has made me forget the main game, Reader. I’m talkin’ REVENGE, of course. I’m talkin’ strangulation of the now-notorious Alistair Vivekenanda!

(NOTE: When I say “strangulation”, I mean in self defence, obviously. Just in case there’s a cop readin’ this…)

But have no fear. I’ve planned my act of (quote) “self defence” (end quote) carefully. (Actually, I probably shouldn’t have added those “irony quotes” there.) (Or said “quote”.) (Or “end quote”.) (Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t have called my self defence “REVENGE” {in big, bold letters} either. So if that cop is reading this, I would strongly advise him to stay silent in case what he says is taken down and used against me in a Court of Law.)

Where was I? Oh, right. I was in my bedroom, looking through my telescope while gripped with an all consuming urge for Self Defence. And the monstrous form I could see through the window in an equal-yet-opposite bedroom was Alistair you-know-whom. Worst of all, this appalling PERVOID was pervin’ right back at me through his own telescoping tool!

Now, this is the bit the hypothetical cop should be lookin’ into!

Making matters even worse than worst of all, it seemed as though the Pervoid saw me seeing him. Because (at exactly the same time that I did) he pulled his fat, ugly head away from his telescope and stared me right in the face. Then he went back to looking through his own telescope– coincidentally, also at the same time that I did.

By now you’ve probably guessed what was going on here.

That’s right. The bastard was invading my privacy! Well, believe me, Gentle Reader, I was not gunna stand (or sit) for that sort’a tresspassin’ behaviour no more! It was time for me to illegally enter his private property an’ sort this out, mano a bastardo. So I climbed out my bedroom window– but I had to move quickly because that swine of a Peepin’ Tom (Alistair) ‘cross the road there made a charge for his own bedroom window at roughly the same time (and speed) as I did mine. Luckily, I lost sight of him (which means he must’a lost sight of me, too) as I ran (Commando Style) across the road an’ dived RAGE FIRST into the shrubs.

When I (finally) found my way out of a particularly maze-like shrub, I tiptoed (Assassin Style) over to the tresspassin’ bastard’s window and had a look inside– and you won’t believe what I saw: a large MIRROR on the door of his wardrobe that I had… y’know… completely forgotten about in all the confusion. Which, of course, could only mean one thing: that hideously ugly swine was lookin’ through his telescope whilst hiding (somewhat brazenly) in front of a mirror to throw me off his trail!

Not at all pleased, I dived an iron fist (mine) into my pocket, searching for my “Self Defence Noose” (which is what I now call my {formerly pretty} pink ribbon). But as I fished around in there, my outspoken dick spoke out through my trousings:

“Ya left it on the floor beside yer telescope, ya big ME-head!”

By George, I think he was right. Which meant I would have to tool up with another self defence weapon. After a quick skirt around the hedges, I found what I was looking for.

“Ah!” is what I said. “These pruning sheers will do.”

Then I wiped the prune juice off ’em ‘n’ stuck ’em in my pocket.

After I clambered (Ninja Style) through the window that I’d quietly smashed open with a rock, I got a closer look at the mirror and found– mysteriously– that the telescope was no longer there.

“Looking for something?” said a familiar pair of whiney voices coming out of a couple familiar faces connected by a familiar lock of nose-hairs. It was the GANOOSH BOYS– and they were holding the missing telescope, cunningly disguised as two glasses of raspberry cordial.

“What’re you pair doin’ here?” I demanded.

“We saw this empty house and we thought it might be a good place t’ squat, ” they said.

“What’s wrong with usin’ yer own toilet?” I reasoned. But they fell into a coy silence. Then it suddenly dawned on me that the Vivekenanda family home was (like they said) empty. I queried the boys re: that matter and they said:

“It’s empty because– DER!– they left. We saw them packin’ all their stuff into an ambulance– right after we put you in the back o’ their FURNITURE REMOVAL VAN (!!!)”

Suddenly, it all came Ganooshing back to me. Those nosey lads had saved my outspoken todger’s life! Maybe not “on purpose”… but who cares?? I was overcome with gratefulness, and– remembering the skills I heard rumours about from Doctor Leigh– I took the pruning sheers out of my pocket and lunged at those lads in a medical phrenzy, severing their nose-hairs with a single mighty snip!

Aaaaaaaanyway, to snip a long story short, when the real ambulance finally got there (after I phoned Mumbai again) (Oh, and also after I spent several minutes dodging the massive amount of blood that squirted from their hose-like “nose-hairs” as they writhed in very vocal agony on the floor), I discovered that the hairs joining them were actually wrapped around a major nostril-nerve-slash-artery type thing. According to the real Ambo Guys, anyway.

So… yair. “Oops”.


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